I hear your cackle. Anyone who knows you recognizes it and inevitably cackles, themself. You're laughter calms and softens even the densest of hearts. I can't remember a time it wasn't that way. You see me. At least I think you do. But everyone wants to talk to you, laugh with you. It takes a little bit before you get to me. You smile cheesily. You're in a great mood today. I smile back. We talk and walk, and talk and walk with others. Too soon, you have to go. I'm guessing you're tired. All the excitement we drum up, can be tiresome. But after you have left, I'm not sad. Well, I am slightly sad, but not as sad as I'd expect after your having to go. My smiles aren't quite as wide when you're not around. I cannot cause anyone to laugh as well as I cause you. My vacations of choice include watching television with you and waiting up half the night discussing trivial matters. But right now, as you walk away, I feel surprised, perhaps even dissatisfied with you.
My eyes don't have to open to realize you weren't real. Of course I was dissatisfied. Our brains could be the most advanced and capable elements of the universe: able to imagine. But even those can't recreate someone it has experienced time and time again to fullest degree. Inside my head, night or day, you're merely a two-demensional figure. How could the essence of a someone who causes so much rapture by just being near!, be caught within the strokes of a stick figure. I may hear your laughter and feel the softness of your skin, but they're stick figures compared to you. Nothing, compared to you. I wish I had a magical brush that could paint with the texture of your soul. But I fear no amount of magic could enliven a canvas in accord with your splendor.
I wish I could talk with you. I wish I could see you. And I do, but all I have are these worthless visions of you that could never do you justice. My mind just can't do it. It can't fool me, even as I sleep, that you are here.
I miss you, my dear Amanda.
